won't you come out, I've been waiting for you
by BleepBlapBloop
Summary: Klaus discovers Stefan anew, one sense at a time.


Pre-S3. Title from _Where The Lonely Ones Roam_ by Digital Daggers.**  
**

The sole purpose of this was to pull me out of my boredom, so... I apologize if it's terrible :|

I own absolutely nada.

* * *

i. _Sight_

Klaus watches with inexplicable fascination as the sixth body falls to the ground, the bloody head rolling a few feet away, stopping next to a slender ivory leg. He should be used to it by now. He supposes he is, but that doesn't make the experience any less thrilling or the scene in front of him less impressive. His ripper surrounded by scattered body parts, black veins against his pale skin, blood dripping down his chin and chest, staining his navy blue shirt.

He gives Stefan a gentle smile. Such a messy eater.

_Such a lovely sight._

Stefan has always been handsome but he has never looked more beautiful than he does now, soaked in blood, wearing the crimson costume that suits him like no other, stealing lives and bestowing death.

Stefan hunts and captures and slaughters, paints the picture of the perfect massacre. He's wild, uncontrollable, unstoppable.

_Magnificent_.

There's immeasurable talent hidden behind those captivating eyes of his; eyes that are sometimes bright green and young, and sometimes soak up the blue of the sky, and sometimes turn grey, like a testimony to the duality within him, black and white, cruelty and kindness, the monster and the hero.

The same eyes that ninety years ago looked at him and saw something no one else could see. Eyes that don't – _can't_ – recognize him anymore.

He only has himself to blame for that.

Then again, most of the time Klaus doesn't recognize Stefan either and only sees the tiniest bit of resemblance to the man who used to be his closest friend when he's ripping someone's throat out. So he pushes the memories away and tries not to think about countless paintings and drawings and every little detail he remembers so well it's almost pathetic. He pretends he doesn't know the exact shade of Stefan's skin or the shape of the scar above his right knee or the story behind his tattoo. There's no point in remembering.

He feels like he has to learn how to look at Stefan, to get to know him all over again because right now they are nothing more than strangers. Complete strangers, just like everyone they kill.

He wonders what Stefan's victims see in his eyes before the bloodlust takes over. Before they breathe their last breath and the light leaves their eyes. Do they see the green forest, the clear sky, the stormy clouds? A monster, a murderer, a devastated, confused boy? Silent apologies and a crushing guilt? The overwhelming urge to kill?

He wants to see what they see. Wants to believe that Stefan could actually hurt him. He wants danger, brutal strength, sheer recklessness, Stefan's eyes ablaze with rage and hatred.

He'd rather deal with fire than emotionless glances, so he keeps collecting embers of hope and pictures a future where Stefan doesn't see the villain every time he looks at him.

But for now he'll be Stefan's villain. He'll be his shield, too.

* * *

ii. _Smell_

It's always the scent of blood that catches their attention first. Powerful like a hurricane, yet so sweet and inviting, laced with fear and panic, terror and despair. It's understandable that Stefan loses control.

Less understandable and a little unnerving is the fact that what drives him mad is Stefan's scent.

Not the scent of his victims or the smell of his clothes or any other smell that clings to Stefan but the scent Klaus identifies beneath all those layers.

He's not entirely sure that it's possible for anyone to smell like that, let alone a centuries-old mass-murderer, so maybe it's all in his head, but the closer he gets to Stefan the easier it becomes to notice the smell of youth and life and a town that forever ago used to be home.

It stirs up emotions that Klaus really doesn't want or need, but he can't ignore the sharp fragrance, it's right there, barely hidden beneath Stefan's cologne and it shakes him to the core. It smells like hope, like happiness enveloped in smoke and the smoke chokes him and he wants it to stop. He wants to stop thinking about everything he lost so many lifetimes ago.

But instead he just inhales and basks in the scent of not-quite-lost innocence.

Sometimes Stefan smells like fresh rain and the forest and the falls Klaus remembers looking at with wonder-filled eyes; crisp air and wilderness and serenity all at once.

He hates Stefan for carrying that scent everywhere he goes and he hates himself for recognizing it.

But he still breathes in everyday, just to make sure that he doesn't forget his own misery, his own loss. After this long not being haunted by memories wouldn't feel right.

* * *

iii. _Hearing_

Arguing with Stefan can be oddly entertaining at times. Stefan is so stubborn and his words so strong and loud, like beating drums, the sound of ten thousand voices screaming ten thousand different things when it's really just Stefan's voice becoming rough and hoarse with every word he says and wants to say and doesn't dare to say.

In the end Stefan gives in, it's not like he has much of a choice anyway, and then _ta-thump ta-thump ta-thump,_ another terrified heart and then another one and another one, the symphony starts and he dives into an ocean of screams.

Desperate whimpers and cries and pleas for help, _tathumptathumptathump_, Stefan's racing heart, the ripping sound of fangs tearing through skin, of blood filling his mouth and sliding down his throat, the sound of eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he closes his eyes.

_Ta-thump_. A whisper, an apology.

Afterwards Stefan makes sure to tell him how much he hates him but all Klaus wants to hear are the unfamiliar voices singing in Stefan's blood.

He can't help but hear what he's saying though, because Stefan's words are _so_ loud and they cut like a sword, they are sharper than any blade known to man and mar his soul with horrifying ease but those words are also silk and velvet and they heal his one-thousand-year-old wounds and scars, and Klaus thinks that maybe all he wants to hear is Stefan's deep voice.

But Stefan stops yelling, stops talking, everything is too quiet and Klaus can't stand the silence. Stefan knows, that's why he keeps his mouth shut, even though he's boiling on the inside and his emotions keep humming.

Klaus is waiting for Stefan to erupt like a volcano, to explode, he wants to hear the deafening boom but Stefan keeps quiet, silently provoking him to do something about it, to light the fuse, and _oh_, how close he is to doing just that. But he can't, he would ruin Stefan and he doesn't want to do that, even though he knows that he eventually will, because that's what he does, he ruins everything good and pure.

Hours later he still concentrates on listening to the car's engine and the sound of falling rain and wills himself not to look at the boy manvampirefriendprisoner sleeping in the passenger seat but that doesn't stop him from thinking that Stefan's blood coursing through his veins is the sweetest melody he's ever heard.

As he pulls over he lets out a weary sigh; it's not raining anymore and all he hears is Stefan's heartbeat, loud as thunder. But Stefan is not invincible, he is still so young and vulnerable against the monsters from Klaus' past and suddenly it become clear that even though Klaus is more than willing to tear to shreds anyone who dares so much as look at Stefan the wrong way, he can't truly protect him from everyone.

He's thinking about how he will finally defeat Mikael and almost hears the sweet sound of victory when the steady beat of Stefan's heart lulls him into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

iv. _Touch_

They are somewhere in the middle of nowhere, lying on a bed of grass, sheltered by summer leaves and a hundred million stars. The blood has dried; the scratches and bruises are healed.

But their lips are still burning, the flames still dancing on their skin.

Klaus bites Stefan again and again and again, wants to bathe his body in blood, wants to drown in it, wants Stefan to drown too. As if in a trance he smears the blood on Stefan's chest and starts drawing something, not even he can tell what, maybe what he feels or what he wishes he could say or maybe both, intricate, nonsensical patterns covering pale skin. He bites his own wrist, his blood blending with Stefan's, and he starts drawing again. It's the only way he knows how to convey his feelings and he's doing it wrong.

Stefan lets him do whatever he needs to, doesn't move, stands so still that Klaus would be a little worried if it weren't for Stefan's fingers lightly grazing his scalp.

He can still feel the spark of insanity on Stefan's smooth skin and a part of him thinks that maybe he should feel sorry because he did it, he destroyed him, but all the other parts say that it's fine, it's alright to make Stefan suffer because Stefan is a little damaged too and he wants to suffer, that's why he always acts like every bad thing that happens in the universe is his fault.

His hands wander over Stefan's body, fingers trying to relearn every line and curve they haven't even forgotten, leaving more bruises, marking him. He bites Stefan again, just below his heart; he doesn't need much, only a small opening, a tiny little crack he can creep through. He wants to crawl inside Stefan's heart and stay there forever.

But Stefan grabs his arm, pulls him back up and looks him in the eyes, _this is different, remember?_ It's not about the wrong kind of madness and pain and suffering, it's never been about that, not with Stefan, it's about something else entirely, and Klaus willingly sinks into the chaos of puzzling feelings.

He can't draw, paint or explain what this is, there are no right colors or words. He doesn't have a name for it, maybe there is one but he doesn't know it. All he knows is that Stefan shines brighter than the sun and Klaus wants to burn until there are only ashes left.

He eagerly welcomes the warmth that radiates from Stefan and floods his worthless, empty body.

* * *

v. _Taste_

For some reason Stefan's lips taste sweet even when they are covered in blood. There's this unmistakable sweetness that lingers under the metallic taste, reminiscent of vanilla ice cream and those chocolate-dipped cherries Stefan likes so much.

It proves to be a little inconvenient sometimes because there's an army waiting to be created, a war waiting to start, but Klaus finds himself unable to plan his next move or to even think clearly, his mind clouded by sweet, persistent fog, his tongue tracing Stefan's bloodstained lips and then every inch of salty skin.

He wants to devour Stefan, to taste skin and blood and flesh and bone. To swallow his heart whole.

Klaus doesn't claim to remember what the blood of each and every one of victims tasted like and because he is not Mikael, nor does he ever want to be, the taste of vampire blood is still unfamiliar. So trying to compare Stefan's blood to anything he has tasted before feels a little like stumbling through a dense forest with wobbly legs and a blurred vision.

Stefan bleeds innocence and light and humanity, everything Klaus desperately craves and despises, liquid fire flooding his taste buds, healing and soothing; leaving him paralyzed and bringing him one step closer to his impending doom.

The poison running through his own veins starts boiling, makes him think that this is something he will need forever, that he might get addicted to not being alone and miserable, but then Stefan sinks his fangs into his neck, sucks the poison out of his body and cures him, and Klaus stops thinking because he's drunk with blood and so is Stefan and they are dancing on a tightrope, two acrobats wondering who will be the first to fall.

He doesn't realize that the walls are crumbling and they are both covered in dust and that for a brief moment he's as vulnerable as a little child. Maybe he does realize but he's simply too old and tired to always keep his guard up.

He licks his lips slowly and revels in the bittersweet taste of half-happiness.


End file.
